


Insurrection Contention

by Aequitas_Arisen



Series: Homestuck AU; Sci-Fi tangent... god I'm bored [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (later tho cause I have to put Karkat through some trauma), Abuse, Blood, Concealed Pregnancy, Egg Laying, He's Signless' kid, Homestuck AU, Karkat can have kids cause of mutation, Multi, RebelLeader!Karkat - Freeform, Sedition, Some serious triggering shit, Space Battles, Space Pirates, Tags to be added as I go, blood draining, helmsman!Sollux, trolls have never met - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequitas_Arisen/pseuds/Aequitas_Arisen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 7 sweep old Karkat is plucked from his hive, sustaining injury and taken to the fortress of the Highblood, who upon capturing him, decides to use him and basically has intentions to keep him as a sex pet. Karkat resists, dragging it out a ways (not super long) A servant of the fortress is a part of the resistance of the empire, and they plans to help him escape. On the eve of his escape-date, the Highblood caves and rapes him royally. After a pretty gory escape involving quite a bit of explosions, Karkat finds himself the figurehead of a revolution and the descendant of a troll he never even knew.<br/>I hope I can nudge it enough to make it go places such as space battles and maybe even some fluff if  I really work hard, but no promises.</p>
<p>Lots of graphic material, lots of blood, not for wrigglers :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture of the Shrew

**Author's Note:**

> This shall be preceded by a particularly confusing note on this work, but I will say this before even starting:  
> I absolutely refuse to have the dignity of a character removed. Yes, Karkat is essentially raped. But a lot more happens than just being captured by the Highblood. If my patience does not wane, and I'm feeling particularly inspired, this will likely grow much larger than my estimate of a few chapters... but I simply cannot resist the temptation for perhaps a second work with RebelLeader!Karkat, with some violence and plot, and it will be simply fantastic. This will be so completely over thought, I anticipate crying in shame. But yet, addiction is a powerful thing.
> 
> If you were looking for some Stockholm syndrome fic or a beauty on the beast fluffy garbage, that's the way this starts out, but Karkat doesn't give in or break, or become the Highbloods' bitch, I promise.  
> This is the first thing I've published, and no one else has ever read it except it's author (that would be me), but I was tired of just reading and wanted to do a little writing too. 
> 
> As always, report typos, and give honest critiques, if it suits you to do so.
> 
> I was a little inspired by another work with a similar plot line to write this one, but please don't hound me about it. If you notice the similarities, good for you, but they're not the same, and they certainly won't end the same. This beginning chapter is essentially identical, however. Sorry to be so unoriginal.
> 
> Peace.

Karkat would likely have been less frightened if not for the Grand Highblood's silence. After being dragged into the fortress, he stood in the gloom of the stone throne room, painted with layer upon layer of blood from nearly every hue, some faded by age from centuries of resting on the walls. He was awake by the skin of his teeth and skirted by two subjuggulators, grins wide at the presentation of a new plaything. Karkat could see now, the meaning behind the horrific legends and tales that gave this troll his blood imbrued reputation. "What the fuck do you want from me? Why don't you just kill me already? Sitting there like a creepy asshole doesn't seem like very effective punishment for insulting your oh-so-precious hemospectrum with my mere existence." This rose chuckles from the two subjuggulators, growing into laughs. He knew he was the mouse taunting the tiger, but hell if he wasn't going to die without telling his killer was a huge bastard he really was.

 

The Grand Highblood himself had chin rested between thumb and forefinger, formidable form spread in the massive chair that looked to be made from stone and bones. Karkat was filthy and bloody from the conflict of his capture. He hadn't understood why they decided to bring him here really, but now, standing in this colder than tits throne room looking at the walls covered in the claret of a hundred generations, he stifled shivers in the face of a long-standing tradition of slaughter. The storm of drones that had surrounded his hive had left him battered and fatigued. Fear was not the only thing that left him breathing heavily and his knees quivering.

 

His bright red blood was clearly visible in the dull light from a cut along his brow and longer one down his arm, it seemed almost to glow. A drop fell from the gash on his limb onto the stone floor. With a flick of his hand, the Grand Highblood waved out the subjuggulators, leaving Karkat alone with him. After an intense stare down between the two, Karkat straightened with a growl, tightening his grip around the handle of his sickle. He lunged with a shrill cry, slicing at the troll in the throne. The Highblood swung out from the blade's path, grabbing Karkat's arm, twisted it behind his back and slammed him down to the floor. The sickle clattered elsewhere out of reach.

 

Furious, Karkat thrashed, angrily trying to escape the pinned position. Not so much as the Highblood's nose had twitched in restraining him, but now,while the young mutant struggled, his face spread into a grin. Karkat stopped only to peer up at the eyes drawn up in amusement at their lopsided strife. He shut his eyes hiding pink tears. He didn't want to die. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Kanaya again. But so many before him had not wanted to die either, and he was afraid he was doomed to suffer the same fate. She would never even know what happened to him, or why Crabdad was dead, or his hive was destroyed. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me. I'm not going to wriggle on the floor for you amusement." there was a moment of silence, before an outbreak of laughter erupted from the Highblood like the crowd at some sadistic tyrian comedy show where they hunt lowbloods for sport. "You will if I want you to, if a I make you." At this he flipped him over, forcing a kiss on him, wrenching open dry lips with his tongue to trace the front of his teeth, the mutant thrashing beneath him. When he drew back, Karkat's face was pulled into terrified panic as he realized what exactly was intended for him. 

 

He spat in the Highblood's face. "Go fuck one of your carnies, this ass is exclusive to trolls who don't murder the innocent." 

 

To his dismay, the Highblood laughed once more, covering his small teenage body with his powerful one, pinning Karkat's writs to the floor before he could resist. "Get off of me... Fucking get off of me..." Karkat choked out through bared teeth and tears, growling out spitefully. He lifted up his torso, nearly shoving himself out from beneath the huge troll on top of him, who released one hand to shove him down roughly back onto the stone. Karkat was quick, cracking a tight fist squarely on his face. The Highblood growled angrily, and responded with a rough grind on Karkat's groin, causing him to be immediately silenced and his pupils to dilate. Drops from the Highblood's bloodied nose fell onto his chin and neck, making him shiver.

 

When he shoved a hand down Karkat's pants, twining with his bulge, gently kneading, is when Karkat whined in shame, his eyes clamped shut. When he began wailing at the larger troll's knuckles moving at his nook, The Highblood hissed, grabbing his twisted face, "You might be screaming no, but your body's screaming yes. I know you want my motherfucking bulge in you so bad, and yet you deny me."

 

Karkat stared blankly, before his face twisted again, pouring cherry tears. Grunting, the Highblood took both of Karkat's wrists in one hand, carrying him dangling in the air, through a set of halls, and finally a heavy door. Once the door was slammed shut, He threw him roughly on a huge concupiscent platform, chaining him by an ankle before he could run. Karkat wallowed in the purple velvet, fighting the hands trying to slip off his tatty shirt. They finally became impatient, and ripped off the garment altogether. When hands finally came to the top button of his pants, Karkat fell silent, before lashing across the grand Highblood's face, leaving angry purple claw marks. 

 

The purple blood roared, shoving the mutant's face down onto the sheets, taking up more chains and restraining his wrists, pulling them tight before moving back to his attired waistline. The tearing singing of ripping seams matched the pitch of the wail of Karkat, who writhed against the plush surface of the platform. More grunts from the Highblood, whose rough hands ran along his soft shoulders down, down, down his back to the band of his boxers. They slipped under, cupping and evaluating the cheeks' tight shape. Karkat whined at the hands on his ass, dropping in pitch to a hostile growl as his bulge emerged from it's sheath, face screwed up in misery at the humiliation of his traitorous body. As soon as the grey boxers, soaked with cherry fluid were around his ankles, the Grand Highblood flipped him onto his back once more. Immediately, Karkat's hands rushed upward to shield his nook. The Highblood unhanded him, watching in perplexity as he seemed to crumble in on himself, screaming "No, no, no ,no, no...." in torment. 

 

This carried on, until finally Karkat laboriously cracked an eye, to see the steel faced Highblood pulling off of the platform, leaving Karkat untouched.

 

"When you give yourself to me, which you will, you will be willing." He took Karkat's boxers, tearing them off the chain,and to the pile of tatters that previously clad the mutant and took up the pile, striding to the door, "and don't even think you'll be getting any clothes until then." And with that, he swung through the door leaving Karkat to collapse into a ball with a rustle of velvet and silver chains.

 

The room was as cold and dim as the throne room and as frigid as the halls in which he was previously assaulted, filled with only colorful carpets, and lit only by candles resting in skulls lining the walls. And now, it was also filled with the sound of Karkat's soft cries. He felt horrible, his body ached, he was tired, and his nook felt torn from the horrific onslaught. He wanted to die like the pitiful wiggler the Highblood thought he was, and would treat him as. No, he thought then, clenching his fists. No, I will not be conquered. 


	2. Wrestling the Dayterror: Karkat Has a Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here you go. This will probably really really suck to the nether reaches of my creativity, but well, here you go. I really am just trying to crank out chapters only because I think the best way to get rid of writer's block is just to write. period. Best cure for writer's block, right there. And I don't think it really matters if I give you one lame chapter, as long as there are a few cool chapters to balance it out. I'm trying, here. I'm giving a genuine effort. 
> 
> I'm gonna keep going. thanks for sticking with me. I'm just sooooooo bored.  
> I live in the forest, on a mountain, RIGHT next to a river. taking pictures of mushrooms is LITERALLY my hobby.  
> Please tell me what I can make better, though. I really do want to know, so I can improve if I can.
> 
> HAPPY STAR WARS DAY!!! May the fourth be with you!!!

Karkat was absolutely spent. The exhaustion from the Highblood's assault, paired with the continued struggle to get free made his muscles scream as if they were about to just splinter off his form entirely. But still he wrangled on the chains. No weakness could be found in any of the links, nor in the cuffs, but the bracket where his left wrist was bolted to the wall wiggled slightly when yanked. And so, Karkat was left in the gradually darkening room to rub his wrists raw in a futile attempt to escape. As he sat there, groaning at his now gruesomely injured joints, he gave one last halfhearted tug before collapsing into the rumpled pile of sheets. As he lay there, he immediately began to become aware of just how cold it was. The adrenaline from his exertion was wearing off. Burying his nose in the covers beneath him, he took a whiff, discovering that they were lightly perfumed with an icy plum fragrance. They were also some sort of fur, a mink or some other river animal that was insanely warm and soft. He reached over, grabbing two corners, enveloping himself neatly into a cocoon of the velvety material.

 

He discovered soon that his eyelids were becoming heavy, sleep tugging at the edges of his vision. He wondered then what would become of him. Looking now at the walls, they were almost solid rock in every direction, besides a vaulted ceiling and wooden beams. Thankfully, this room wasn't plastered in blood, but he still shivered at the skulls held in sconces around the perimeter. From there, the only light came, dying as the wicks of their candles slowly drowned in melted wax. Very soon, the only light would come the tiny sliver of dim light that came from the beneath the huge wooden door. Heh... the bastard didn't even bother to lock it. But as much as that gave Karkat a tiny slice of validation for his defensive invective, it still gave him no hope for escape. This was, after all, the Fortress of the Grand Highblood himself.

 

In fact, if Karkat strained, he could faintly hear some sort of laughter... likely from the celebration of his capture. The subjuggulators got joy from the worship of their messiahs. In his opinion, it was depraved. Even more so because they were given so much power in this crack ass backwards empire. Never before had he met another troll who shared his disdain for their practices, except for Kanaya, and even she not as vehemently as him. Something about the whole vile dance of conquer and kill they drew so much amusement from sickened him, he cultivated a hot fury, and a cold will, something about it made him want to do something. To show them that they can't rule him, control him, or manipulate him for their barbarism. Something about it made him want to protect those like him, to avenge those on the walls. This train of thought caused a heightening rage to bloom, spreading upwards through his chest, chasing away his fatigue, and with a clench of his fist over the silvery cuff, he screamed, tearing with all his might at the bracket in the wall.

 

With a loud _ching,_ it freed from the wall, dust from the stone powdered to the floor, reopening the sticky red scabs along his wrist. A chunk of the stone was still stuck to the bolts.

 

His triumph, however, was short-lived, as the sheer momentum was transferred entirely to the right side of his body,throwing him off the bed, and onto the floor.

 

The stone struck his head with such force, he was out cold, the covers twisted around his body.

 

 

                                  ~~~

He was an outcast, a pariah. A wandering vagabond. He had dared to speak out against tyranny and he found himself with only the wind at his back, the only thing keeping him going, as his companion. But he looked down, his stomach swollen with something. He cradled it lovingly, it was important. So infinitely precious, he could let no harm befall it. Every so often it stirred, as if it was alive inside of him. It seemed he might die, and this thing inside him, as well. But still he ambled further and further from the lights of a faraway city, it's lights hardly visible against the horizon. Away from the city, the empire, persecution from the highbloods, certain death. 

 

The hot wind then picked up, buffeting his rags, pulling back the hood of his cloak, and blowing sparkling ribbons of sand into his eyes. He walked faster through what seemed to be endless dunes. 

 

The amorous beauty of the setting sun seemed to mock the pain in his feet, until he shut his eyes tightly. It still only seemed to cause tears to well in his eyes, not alleviating the gravelly pain. The sandstorm's winds only seemed to become more capricious. It seemed the shifting, whispering sands were directing him into oblivion. The muscles of his eyelids seemed to be welded tightly shut, the water of his woe seeping down his cheeks, making the dust stick in a thin layer of glassy silt. When he felt the terrain change to an incline, likely just another rolling dune, he grit his teeth. The  sand sped in between his lips filling his mouth, he finally gave in. It brought him to his knees. He coughed, and spat, but the wind filled his mouth as quickly as he emptied it.

 

With his teeth, he brought his left wrist to his mouth, undoing the knots of scarlet silk that served as his sleeves. As soon as the fluttering cloth found itself free, it was carried away on the wind, like a crimson bird, or a phoenix on high.

 

He finally slumped forward with a sigh, falling gently into the sand. With the last shreds of will he had left, he crawled forward. In the fiery temperature of the ground, he finally made it to the top of the dune, brushing fingers so slightly the last few inches into warm grass. It was soft, well tended. He stroked the tender blades. They reminded him so much of the feeling of the his hands in the grass in Kanaya's garden, when they would sit together, she would make sure he stayed out of the sun beneath a pretty yellow parasol she sewed for him... it seemed so long ago.

 

Grass....grass, wait!

 

He popped up his head, tearing his eyelids apart.

 

There stood Kanaya's hive. The tower, with the large bulb-like room atop it, and the walk leading to her sphere-shaped bedroom. The colorful sheets and flags solar-cloth tied to the various rungs that powered the structure were buffeting in the powerful wind. 

 

With new determination, he lifted his body out of the dune and walked towards the hive.

 

In the small forest outside, he found himself slowly walking, he began to feel the sores of his feet open, and with each step it became harder and harder to take another. it didn't help that his shoes were filled with sand, which only sought to heighten the sting. From his right, He heard a sound, muffled by the wind, but there all the same.

 

Turning, there on the ground, was a crow. 

 

It was rotting, maggots spilling from the stomach, but still living. It was flailing on the ground, wheezing and coughing like a sick troll. It seemed to be begging, imploring for something.

 

As it came closer, continuing to squawk and thrashed on the ground, Karkat realized it was so diseased and close to death, it welcomed it. Begged for it. It was begging him to kill it.

 

He felt washed with pity for the creature. He knelt beside it, giving it a gentle touch, "Shhh, it's alright..."  under which the crow calmed. Karkat pulled a blade from the folds of his cloak. At the sight of it, the crow stopped struggling altogether.

 

When Karkat turned away to kill the crow, he brought up his hands, only to be startled to find them the color of his own bright hue. The crow sat dead. Karkat bowed his head in a silent prayer, only to be blasted backward, ears suddenly filled with the din of thousands of beating wings. He looked back, from the crow had sprung thousands... if not millions, of small birds, from every color of the hemospectrum. The wind had ceased. The sky was filled with color. He saw a small crimson sparrow land on his finger, bobbing it's head before once more taking flight. It was profusely gorgeous like nothing he had ever seen before. Finally, all these birds which had been held captive by destruction were free, each as beautiful as the last. 

 

 

                                                                        ~~~

 

He was being shaken awake. 

 

He finally bolted upright when he felt the Highblood trying to lift him out of the blanket. He responded by clocking him firmly in the face. "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME." The Highblood only continued with a sneer, handling Karkat like an insubordinate child. A hissing, cursing, naked child. 

It was when he looked to the far side of the room did he notice a tiny olive blood girl with a med kit, basin, towels, and pitcher of steaming water, did he stand with dignity on his own two feet.

 

The Grand Highblood only shoved him down on the bed, clutching his throat. 

 

"This is Nepeta. Let her tend to your motherfucking self-inflicted wounds. Seriously, what  the hell were you doing?" Karkat only claws at the arm pinning him. For real. He was getting real tired of this giant douchenozzle pinning him down. The little olive blood shifted uncomfortably. 

 

Karkat couldn't bring himself to put her through any more of this bullshit any more. So he released his claws from the arm around his neck. "There, good to see you've decided to be at least a little bit intelligent." This earned a hiss from Karkat, who wrapped himself in the fluff of the blanket to cover his nether regions. The Highblood removed his chains with a small glint of metal and tucked it away before Karkat could get a good look. Now, Karkat could get a good look at the extent of his injuries. The purple blood snatched his hands and turned them over, scoffing at the how utterly rubbed raw they were, throwing them down in disgust. "Nepeta... little olive scum, come here." She kept her head down as she approached, but when she drew close enough to see Karkat's blood color, she gasped, dropping the supplies she brought, covering her mouth to stifle a noise. The pitcher of hot water shattered, burning her feet. The Highblood was furious.

 

"Stupid motherfucking shitblood! He roared, smacking her across her face. She fell to the floor looking up with a frown. When he stepped over her, Karkat screamed, "NO. Highblood, no. She doesn't deserve punishment." He stood from the bed, trying to cover himself with the blanket. The Highblood only whirled back to look at him with his rage-filled eyes before storming out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that really bad? ...... (O_O) ....... I'm sorry.....I have lot's of cool ideas rattling around in my head, but I have to wait until the right time to spring them on you. 
> 
> (-_-;) I'm trying, genuinely, I'm trying.


	3. Messiahs forgive me... how could this be right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my dear gods....  
> I am SO sorry, I honestly *just* realized just how BAD my title is...  
> *facepalms*  
> I can't even think of a better one right now.  
> Here you go.... another frequent update :)

The girl, Nepeta, sat on the floor in shock after the Highblood's exit. Karkat looked at her, now. She had short, tidy black hair, curled gently with small braids, and cat-like horns poking from her head. Her light brown dress bore only an olive colored ribbon gathered at her neckline and sleeves to indicate her hue. She was small but Karkat could tell that she was strong. She was cut. Her deceiving height meant nothing against her if she was strong. He wondered how long she must have served here, or why, if the Highblood called her by name. "I've never heard anyone talk to the Highblood like that before," she began gathering shards of the broken pitcher, "and I've certainly seen him not cull a lowblood who gave him more than a 'yes, your grace'."

 

Now that he could hear her voice, it was melodious. She stared at him from the corner of her eye as she worked. She was struck by his blood at first, then by the startling assortment of training scars along his forearms. "Where'd you get those?" she asked, pointing. Karkat shifted uncomfortably. "Training with my sickle. But it's not like it did me any good." His gaze was downcast. Some of the water from the pitcher had fallen in the basin, which Nepeta soaked up with a cloth and moved to his side, gesturing for him to offer his wrists. He gave them tentatively, and she cleaned them, keeping one eye trained on her charge with curiosity. Karkat remained staring at his hands with a sullen expression as they were subjected to Nepeta's ministrations.

 

"So, how long can I expect to live? How long does he usually keep his pets?" He winced as she gently applied salve. "Mmm...hard to say. He really only kills them after he's tortured them until dead or he's had his way." When Karkat was bandaged, he spoke.

 

"I think it's sick what these Highbloods do. They destroy, kill, rob and use trolls. Nepeta, I haven't had the chance to really talk to you... maybe I never fucking will, but I will say now that I hope you make it, only because you seem like the kind of troll someone can trust." Nepeta quirked her head. "Oh, we'll get plenty of chances to talk. I've been ordered to attend to your needs specifically." Karkat stared, surprised as she swiveled, medical supplies gathered in her arms and went out the door, turning back, "It was so very nice to meet and talk to you, Karkat." With that, she left and shut the door behind her, leaving Karkat to wonder when he had told her his name.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                 

 

                                                                                                                                             ~~~

 

 

 

Nepeta slipped out, skirting the edges of halls and ducking into corridors to avoid the groups of subjuggulators carrying conversations. After dropping of the medical supplies, she made her way up the towers, to the top of a stone garret on the roof filled with pigeons. She simply couldn't resist attempting to catch a few, getting on all fours and pouncing at them as she often stole up here to do on lazy days, for addiction is a powerful thing. Eventually, she paused her silliness to find the crow that roosted at the top of the steeple. At her soft whistle it flapped down to rest on her arm. A scrap of scarlet fabric was tied to it's neck, bearing the symbol of the Signless in grey stitches. She took a piece of paper from a pocket in her dress, scrawling out a message with a small olive green ink pen:

 

 

                                                                                              The heir of the Signless 

_He's been found_

_He's been captured by the Highblood_

 

 

It was kept as short as possible and punctuated by her own sign, before it was slipped into the small tube fastened on the foot of the crow. She released it, and it flapped into the air to the East. Nepeta's mission had been completed, and she took a spare moment to reward herself chasing the pigeons with laughter before returning to her duties lest she be missed.

 

 

                                                                                                                      ~~~

 

 

The Grand Highblood sat in his customary seat over the subjuggulator's party, of sorts. The raucous laughter bled over his ears. Today, a great mission had been completed. Upon direct order of the Imperious Condescension Herself, any and all hatched or discovered with the Signless's hue were to be culled by method of the Highblood's choice. What puzzled him was how could a mutant have escaped the thorough investigations of the hatching caverns, in which none were found. It was a perplexing mystery.

 

"And I bet the shitblood screamed, huh? Both the Sufferer and the little worm we dragged in today, hahaha!"

 

He tightened his grip on the arms of his chair. So much had changed his Signless's death. He could almost still feel his gentle paps, his fingers twining in his hair, and the calming way his voice rose and fell... he still didn't understand why after so long since he had been executed, his absence still left a sharp ache. He had lit the pyre in which the body was burned himself, and yet, it still haunted him. His voice still echoed in his dreams, as well as the screams from that day.

 

The reason he had been so anxious to find his descendant was that perhaps finally conquering the other troll; even in death would render these disgusting attachments void. Now, he simmered with his miscalculation. It was as if Signless had risen from the dead to punish him. He had planned to use the boy, break his mind, his body, then discard him, using the blood as a vivid new highlight to the trophies on the walls. The tender concupiscent desire for the mutant that rooted from his platonic one with the late Signless welled up immediately. And he was even more furious that not only did the mutant deny him, but he also despised him... he halted that train of thought immediately.

 

He was snapped back to attention by the deep guttural chants of his fellow subjuggulators calling for the new blood to be spread on the walls.

 

Motherfuck... they believed Karkat to be dead, tortured by his hand. He rose, ushered by the songs of his brothers calling for the blood of the blasphemous to be rightfully spread on the walls in honor of their messiahs. He took a strong bottle of strong liquor. Stronger than even the sugary stupor that could be dosed by the wicked elixir itself. He would need it for what he was about to do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, ok. That wasn't the best I can do, honest.
> 
> I just HAVE to get these ideas out of my brain, though. please forgive me.
> 
> (O^O)


	4. Coerced Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh... It's a strange feeling to be so private about your fanfiction, sneaking off to the edges of the cafeteria to skritch down ideas and shutting it as soon as someone sneaks up on you. It's a weird feeling to suddenly have people reading it.  
> Despite that, I am so thankful to all that do, because, idk, it just feels rewarding to share and have people say they like your stuff.
> 
> I would also like to say that I really do appreciate your input, so very much, and if you find the time, I would just adore it if you guys could help me work on my writing. 
> 
> I'm also pretty mentally exhausted! If anybody has a suggestion, I would really like it if you could also put that down in the comments, because I really want to actually write something that people will want to read, and have fun doing it. No guarantees I'll follow it, though! I have a free will!!!
> 
> :) peace.

The least that Nepeta could say was that she was startled when the Highblood personally came to collect her from the kitchens. She had barely been able to contain her excitement at having finally delivered the news of the Signless's heir, but fear crept up in her chest at his beckoning her to follow to where Karkat was being held. The other servants prostrated themselves and gave her strange looks as the genocidal master of the house pulled her from her duties for some furtive task. What if he was about to kill Karkat? Would she be forced to protect him? Would she be prepared to die should his life be threatened by the most terrifying troll in all of the Alternian empire? 

 

She steeled herself. 

Yes. 

Yes she would. She must protect Karkat at all costs, and be prepared to die if it came to that. He was more important than any of them yet could imagine. She knew when she joined this Rebellion and took this mission of spying in the Grand Highblood's fortress that she may be forced to lay down her life.

 

"Shitblood, get the medical kit and come back. Don't come in until I up and tell you to come in. Motherfucking understood?"

 

Nepeta was dumbfounded. The Highblood went into the room and shut the door. A wave of helpless panic went over her, and she raced to gain the med kit. 

 

Surely, he could not intend to kill Karkat?

 

 

                                                                                          ~~~

 

He was awoken by heavy footfalls. He had managed to fall into a stupor from pure exhaustion, but still horrors from the dream world bled through. 

 

"Well, that's motherfucking dignified. You're not coming onto me are you?"

He realized he was splayed out on the platform like a whore. He shut his legs, attempting to focus on the Highblood, but simply ended up glaring intensely at the blob of purple and black moving towards him. His vision was bleary from no sopor.

"Only in your masochistic wet dreams...  _your grace."_

 

Karkat kept a sour frown and clenched his fists defensively. 

 

"Haha... Good to hear you're _learning your place_. It's a motherfucking shame having a bitch you have to take non-amorous swill from."

 

"I am no one's bitch."  Was Karkat's retort.

 

"Do I need to up and reiterate my previous command? If a little wailing bitch is what I tell you to be, then that's what you will motherfucking be." He moved to Karkat's side and clamped a huge hand on the back of his neck, but Karkat remained stiff. "It may not seem like it to you, but  I want you in the way that a pair of trolls want each other in the flushed quadrant. I want to give you anything you want, dress you like a little doll, buy you nice things... but you have to do this small thing first. And it ain't much to ask for what I'm offering."

 

Karkat trembled from the huge troll who had moved his arms around him possessively, but he kept a sullen little frown and his teeth bared. 

 

"I'm not giving anything to you, and certainly not my body. I don't want anything from you."

Karkat spoke with a thirsty rasp, but it was contradicted when his stomach picked that exact moment to growl loudly from hunger. He clutched it immediately, cheeks turning pink. It had been gnawing at his insides since he woke.

 

He blinked the last remnants of his decorum-lacking slumber away and brought the Highblood into focus... or more importantly what he had in his hand. It was some sort of liquor.

 

The Highblood grabbed  both Karkat's bandaged wrists with one enormous hand, sinking in razor claws and making the smaller troll cry out, choking on tears. Karkat growled them back, seemingly dragging his tear ducts back by taut leashes from their release. 

 

"We'll just see if you can refuse me."

 

The Highblood then took his other hand, parting Karkat's jaws and slipping the open bottle deeply into his mouth. He sputtered around it, struggling to pull away, or turn to banish the liquid, but the Highblood only pushed it in deeper, making the liquid pour directly down his throat. When he had been forced a good quarter of the bottle, the Highblood released him. He launched himself out of his lap, and coughed and choked and retched until he was able to rasp out, "What...* _cough*..._ the fuck... was that _?"_ He struggled to breathe over the burning in his throat, and crawled all over the platform, eyes wide trying very hard to expel whatever unwelcome fluid had been coerced into him.

 

"The arousal is just a side-effect. That miraculous chemistry's true talent is as a pain-killer. But after a while, you'll just fall asleep. It really is a handy little jewel." He pushed the stopper in the bottle and set it on the floor. He watched for a few minutes silently as Karkat continued to moan and writhe as the drugs worked their way into his pan. When he snapped up his head, his pupils were blown to the size of marbles, his breath was ragged, and he moaned. Karkat ran his hands frantically over own his body, caressing his grub scars, moving over his chest, and working down, down, down to his nook. Before he could knead his knuckles against his wetting slit and satisfy the cherry colored bulge that was peeking from it's sheath, The Highblood leaped forward grabbing his wrists and forcing him down roughly. Karkat cried out, writhing under him. He looked up at him after a minute of just the Highblood stooped over the drugged Karkat. 

 

The Highblood leaned forward, bringing his lips tentatively next to Karkat's. The smaller obliged, planting a passionate kiss against his lips. For a minute, the two were locked in a dance of labial intimacy. The Highblood would push, then pull back like the tide, trying not to be too rough, and then Karkat would bite his lip, dragging it back. He slipped in a tongue, rolling and exploring the bluntness of Karkat's teeth. He pulled back and out, tasting the spice of the alcohol on Karkat. He peered down at the mewling troll, whose pupils were jittering, not seeming to calm or focus. He arched once against him before his eyes rolled back, and he passed out.

 

The Highblood smiled. Now that he wasn't actively snarling at him at every turn, he could see the likeness of him and the Signless as if they were cut from the same cloth. He stroked back the wavy untamed peaks of hair, savoring their softness and sweet smell. He nuzzled the skin at his neck and ran a hand down his thigh. He was lean everywhere, and skinny. Karkat's breath was a little more labored, but he could swear he was 6 sweeps old again, holding Signless... 

He growled at himself. This wasn't Signless. Signless had been dead for sweeps. How many? Was it seven since his execution?

 

He steeled himself and put himself in a killing mood to do what he came to do. He pulled a blade from the inside of his vest, and brought it up to Karkat's neck to slay him where he lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, would you look at that, it's three in the morning.  
> Where did all that time go?
> 
> I guess this chapter is pretty deceiving, but I swear on my life!!! I'm staying true to what I said before, Karkat does not surrender.
> 
> I'll have to put some things that I was going to put in this one in the next one, because I am so very, very tired. Loooooong day!
> 
> I'm not sure I'm liking this living situation I have. blugh, I'll update tomorrow! But I have to clean my house first!
> 
> P.S. I don't mean to be fickle, but since I'm making this up as I go, I sincerely apologize, but I have to change the description because of the story going some unexpected places, but it worked out good! Thanks again!


	5. oh gosh, I can't even name this one... I'm sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so this one opens with a flashback. It's not hard to ascertain whose flashback, though. 
> 
> I had some mild writer's block, but I'm ok now.
> 
> This one came to me during my motorcycle ride I took to clear my head and help pen move on paper.  
> Hope it's good. I hope.
> 
> I think I've eaten too much ramen.

Though so long ago, she again found herself alone with a heavy heart next to the rail of the sky-base that the Rebellion had established. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. It had been seven sweeps, but the ache in her heart felt as fresh as if it had all happened yesterday. The pain of the memory was as if the blueblood executioner had killed her along with her beloved. 

 

The rust colored clouds had snaked along overhead, and the pink moon glared from it's place among the twinkling stars. They had once been a source of wonderment and beauty to be traced by fingertips of young matesprits, young and hopeful instigators of a revolution to overthrow tyranny and restore balance to the empire. But on that day, their light had reflected off of her tears. She had once shared the sight of them with the very troll she had desperately clung to in his last several minutes.

 

"Please, please stay with me Signless. I once told you I would stay with you, always. If they kill you, they must kill me too."

 

He coughed, crimson blood spattering his lips as he did so. He'd been hanging by the heated irons all through the burning sun, and part-ways into the night, before she had finally found him. They had not much time together before the highbloods would begin to flock back to satiate their hunger for bloodshed. But the closest follower, the one who loved him most had not wanted to accept that she was about to lose him. They had danced with death together, staying by each other's side the whole way, that they had wanted to believe their time together was eternal. Despite knowing the risks and facing them with bravery, she had not the will to let go. As Signless's hands slowly burned from him, she wept. She could feel their intense heat even from where she knelt. His voice was raspy when he spoke.

 

"I will always be with you. I will always love you, my Disciple. You've stayed by me, I love you, I will always love you. But... you... you know what you have to do."

 

The Disciple's tears flowed, looking up at his face and tormented eyes filled with so much pain. They had dried tears around them and scratches and bruises covered his body. She stayed silent as she soaked up every word. She stayed true, memorizing every detail, just as she had for every sermon.

 

"This revolution is bigger than the both of us, now. What we began, our child will finish."

 

He looked down at his distended belly which she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against. It was the piece of him that would live on. "I love you, Signless."

 

"I love you, Disciple. I love you so very much."

 

She stood, wrapping him in her arms. "We haven't much time, Disciple." She cut him off with a final kiss, filled with bitter woe.

 

When she pulled back, she drew a knife from her bodice. She gave him another kiss, before taking off his leggings to expose his stomach and inserted the knife briskly at the bottom of his abdomen. He screamed and writhed, trying his hardest not to jerk back lest he cause her to puncture the egg. She worked quickly, sobbing at his noises of agony. Finally, a cut was made long enough for her to reach into the tormented troll to close her palms around the egg. She drew it out with both hands, bringing it up for him to see. It was red, his own hue, but made from her genetic material. He had tears running down his cheeks to match his love's, but stooped down against his scorching manacles to kiss it's surface. "Hello little one. I love you. Now, my Disciple, run. Run before you're both found and killed." Sounds from the approaching horde could already be heard.

 

She gave him one last kiss before wrapping the egg in his leggings and turned to bolt away. What she faced made her heart lurch. She stared down the drawn bow of the Executioner Darkleer. She wept before him, carrying the little bundle. His hands shook on the bow as he watched her lament. She would never know why, but he lowered his bow. "Go, before I come to my senses." She didn't need telling twice. She ran until her feet were raw and bloody, and then until she could hardly feel them at all. Ran from the distant screams of her love and then the abrupt silence. Away from his killers and his moirail who betrayed him. When she finally turned back, air burning her throat with each breath, she was taken by the sight of the crimson flames of the cremation pyre. That night, the stars were veiled in the smoke of sorrow. Never again would she look up at them and not remember her love, and the child they made together. 

 

In the days after his execution, she was so torn by grief, her eyes held only a hollow inward stare. By the time she reached the breeding caverns, her charcoal skin was so ripped by brambles and dotted with puckered sun blisters. The desert was filled with searing heat, dangers, and devoid of water or game to hunt. She was nearly caught slipping into the egg cavern. She was only able to find it from a detailed map given to her by the Dolorosa, but it was stained and tatty from the journey. 

 

She worked quickly, selecting a safe corner among a cluster of olive colored eggs. She gave a silent prayer that it would survive it's trials as she stroked it's surface, "Until we meet again." With a kiss to the velvety shell, she whirled and escaped undetected. In a way, the expedition into the caverns had been a greater risk, being so heavily guarded by drones and jade-bloods. Some of which, were rainbow drinkers. But in her heart, she knew that this wouldn't be goodbye. She would see his child again.

 

She was snapped back to attention by the voice of the crow keeper, with his cry indicating the arrival of one of the winged messengers on the bridge of one of the many decks of the sky-base.

 

"Aiyeeeeeee... caw-caw...caw-caw."

 

He was certainly an odd one. She often wondered who taught him to crow. 

It was risky, but the crows were the only way to communicate with the spies in some corners of the empire where they kept the lowblooded servants from use of computers. Disciple had protested when Nepeta had volunteered for the duty of being the operative within the fortress of the Grand Highblood, but at her insistence, it was deigned she go. As it turned out, it was easy for her to gain a post among the serving ranks within it's walls, but at no small price. It was only because the Highblood recognized her as the Disciple's descendant that she infiltrated the fortress, but she must have been subjected to such horrors and punishment, and it was only because of her blood and her ancestor. She was such a strong and determined young troll. 

 

She turned to face the Ψiioniic, who had taken the message to her, as he always did when it came from Nepeta.

 

"You'll want to see this." His voice was computerized, lacking the ring of his youth. He was among those who stayed beside Signless all through their quest. When the rebellion fighters rescued him from the helmsblock of the flag ship with the help of the Space Pirate Marquise Mindfang, he was rendered unable to function without a drive running through his brain. The wires coiled around his scalp and hooked to a small box at the base of his neck. It wired into his vocal chords and voice box as well, giving him his distinctive speech. 

 

She unrolled the paper, a hint of a smile on her lips at the sight of the little quirk with the little Pounce de Leon face and olive colored ink, but her eyes went wide and her face serious as she read the note, clenching it tighter and reading it over and over to be sure it was really real. 

 

"Mobilize a task force. We infiltrate The Grand Highblood's fortress as soon as they can be ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's with all the randomly materializing knives everywhere?  
> I'm sorry. I don't mean to do that because technically it's cheating, but I will where it's convenient. 
> 
> thumbs up to whoever catches the Hook reference.
> 
> Did you really think I wouldn't milk a cliffhanger for all it's worth? haha.... I know that feel. I'm kinda sorry, but not enough to not laugh just a little.


	6. Screw it, I'm too lazy to name chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorrrrrrrryyyy!!! :(  
> Had some pretty tough computer troubles.  
> Someone logged into my friends account and messaged me saying that someone posted disgusting pics of me on facebook (which is impossible, because I've never taken such photos). And like a chump, I fell for it, and have been wading in interweb horseshit all week.  
> don't rub salt in it, I feel pretty terrible already.
> 
> Anyways, I've given you an excuse, so enjoy this next chapter (hopefully. maybe?).
> 
> As always, if you feel like it, tell me what you think.

The Disciple stood on the deck of the sky base, heated wind from the ever coming-and-going of the fiery engines of the 'copters tousled her unruly hair. Her face was a wall of stern concentration. She wore her armor and steel breastplate with olive trim, fastened together by buckles in the shape of her late matesprit's sign. She played with them absentmindedly. The Ψiioniic was briefing the task force that stood before them, but his word blurred as she shifted from foot to foot. Her concern for Karkat and Nepeta preceded her patience, but masked it for the sake of the mission. 

 

The fighters in front of her and Ψiioniic were volunteers. Most of them were experienced in guerrilla operations, and the others were specialized. But still, they were exhibiting a profound amount of courage in going on this mission.

 

It would be an understatement to say that the Subjuggulators were brutal and skilled fighters. Every Subjuggulator underwent training, mental abuse as well as physical, pitted against one another, forced to survive and even to kill their close lowblooded friends and quadrant-mates at a young age. Each specialized in specific weaponry, held mastery of hand-to-hand combat, and were so mentally warped they simply had no reservations concerning killing or torturing their enemies. 

But they were arrogant. 

The fortress had never been attacked on account of the terrors it housed, but the structure itself was vulnerable. It was archaic, left over from the time of ancients. The stone had been eroding away for centuries, weathered further in recent sweeps from acid rain caused by the Condescension's massive factories and arms manufacturing pollutants.

The plan was simple. A small team would create a diversion by the south entrance of the fortress. Creating such a distraction to draw the Subjuggulator forces almost completely to that section long enough to complete the mission would require something incredibly rash and flamboyant, essentially making it a suicide mission. Thanks to the maps of the fortress's inner workings sent by Nepeta, including where guards were posted and all the back halls and serving corridors, they plotted a route to gain the point of the entire ordeal. The rest of her task force would utilize the maps by slipping into the opposite side of the fortress, hopefully avoiding major detection, and completing the rescue and any other prisoners they could find.

 

"Any questions?" Ψiioniic asked.

A man near the edge of the clump spoke. "Besides the other prisoners, who or what are we trying to retrieve?" 

This time, the Disciple responded. "A boy of seven sweeps, and my descendant, a girl of the same age."

"What's so important about this boy?" : "Why are we taking this risk for a couple of wrigglers?" Different members shouted, aggravated. 

Whispers and angry comments swept through the group.

"He is the Signless's heir." Disciple blasted angrily.

The whispers ceased. 

"Has this been confirmed? Do we know for certain? Asked another tealblood Disciple did not recognize.

"Yes our informant sent us the confirmation and structural data on the fortress. We know for certain." Ψiioniic said this time. "the most dangerous part of this mission will be the diversion at the south entrance. I need at least two of you to volunteer a second time, as the odds are that you won't be coming back."

They began shifting uncomfortably, glances darting amongst one another. There was some pessimistic mumbling, but the Disciple started, "Will no one...?"

"I will. I volunteer."

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice. It was the curly horned Handmaid. Explosives expert and wielder of the blazing needles, standing near the back. Disciple gave her a nod of respect. She had lost her descendant in the last battle, taken prisoner by the Subjuggulators. 

"Anyone else?"

There was a stagnant silence. 

The Ψiioniic spoke, "If any among you are having second thoughts or have decided against going on this mission, no one will think less of you if you wish to step out."

In the silence that followed, ten trolls walked from the deck, leaving half of the original number of volunteers. Disciple avoided looking at them, tightening her grip on her forearms digging her claws into the arm protectors though some sent her apologetic glances. 

"We fly down in the day time, we land next nightfall." Her voice held monotonous courage she didn't really feel. Inwardly she worried at the possibility that Karkat was already dead... No! She must not consider such a horror lest it affect her concentration. She was tired from heartache and sleepless nights from seven sweeps of galvanizing trolls struck down by her matesprit's death. She could not give up now that Karkat was so close to being in her arms again. The only thing that mattered in the present was that they stay alive until she got to him and Nepeta. 

 

"Be safe, I'm coming." She said under her breath as the task force dispersed.

 

 

                                                                                                ~~~

He couldn't kill him. He simply couldn't do it. 

Somehow, He knew, he felt that killing him wouldn't quiet Signless's voice in his head. Every time he slaughtered the lowblood scum, he never felt more alive, but there was Signless in the back of his mind, pleading, begging him to stop. He had been practically screaming as he had held the jagged culling blade to Karkat's neck. He was so young, but he'd culled tiny wrigglers by the dozen, why should this one be any different? 

Why should this one make him feel the way he did?

Worse still, his hands were shaking as he drew away the knife. Why, even in death, did the motherfucking blasphemer Sufferer govern his conscience? He shouldn't even have a conscience!

He was the wicked horrortearing shit.

Every troll lived in terror of his wrath. He rose, roaring in rage and smashing fists over every skull against the wall he could see. 

They were crushed to rounded shards in puffs of bone dust. Candle wax spilled over them. He punched and crushed until the room was all but steeped in darkness.

 

Fuck it all to hell, he bolted back towards Karkat, taking a wrist and drawing a few drops and placing them on his tongue. 

Sweet as he remembered.

 

Each hue had it's own taste. Rust was metallic, jade was sour, and every hue in between was it's own flavor of nutty. Only the highbloods were bitter like bergamot and his own ran over the tongue like a numbing agent. Mutant blood was the only he had ever tasted that was sweet like lusus milk, with an unidentifiable tang.

He sucked on the scratch until the whole of his wrist was red, then threw it down and stormed to the door smashing it down with a foot.

 

~~~

 

 

As soon as Nepeta gained the med kit, she quickly made a run to the back of one of the serving corridors. The Highblood had told her to remain outside the door, but she needed something else. Loosening a stone of one of the corners, working it up until it came free, she lifted it away. Beneath it was a space, hollowed away and occupied by a large gray bundle. She lifted it up from the hole by the cord it was tied with and reset the stone. 

She raced down the hall back towards the chamber, but as soon as she darted into the hall outside the door of Karkat's chamber, she heard a noise of an approaching group of Subjuggulators, the guttural laughs a signal of danger. She bolted backward, nearly stumbling as she pressed her back to the wall, avoiding detection. The door was in view, visible in the next corridor.

 

If she could just...

 

Noises came from within the room. Nepeta tightened her grip on the handle of the med kit and bundle. Her face became hot and her heart quickened. She shuddered to think that noise might have been the blow that killed Karkat. She started in fear with every strike she heard, tears beginning to pool in her eyes as she imagined the worst. 

 

She could dart to the door, but it would be pointless if she was caught. Even if she was caught. Even if she did reach Karkat, the Grand Highblood would likely only kill them both. Nepeta wracked her brain, her heart pounding in her ears. As the Subjuggulators passed the door they guffawed at he noises inside, the smashing and cracking. 

 

"Sounds like a brother's up and getting some action." They shared laughs once more over that remark. 

Nepeta calmed her panicking mind, trying to summon something the Disciple had told her in her training.  _I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer._

 

She managed to breathe quietly despite her racing heart and slip back down the hall and dip behind the corner Just in time to miss the Subjuggulator turning his head to look down the hall. They shared a few more laughs and jokes in poor taste before she heard a deafening crack, followed by thundering footsteps. 

 

The next sound was one she knew well.

 

After the laughter had been cut off, the noise of snapping flesh as it collided with a club.  The splash of blood could be plainly heard against the stone. It was not a sound that was unfamiliar, but she trembled anyway. The blood in her veins felt cold and her legs refused to move though her instincts screamed _protect Karkat!_

IF the Subjuggulators were caught in the Highblood's wrath, what had he done to Karkat? As soon as she heard him stomping away, she peeled herself from the wall, peeking around the corner. The sight that met her eyes was one she was not prepared for.

Blood, in addition to pooling on the floor, had spattered all across the walls, even to the ceiling. Like islands in tiny purple seas, bits of skull were dotted through the growing puddles. The skulls themselves, completely shattered. 

As she tiptoed around the kicked-in rib cages, she was horrified. 

By the gore, yes, but mostly at herself for being so naive to think for a second she could have stood against the Highblood. This was simply the surface of his power. He had just killed two of the deadliest fighters in the whole Alternian Empire in no more than a minute all because he was pissed off. She cursed at herself for thinking she could have protected Karkat. She wiped away tears. 

She went slowly towards the door, silently praying that the same thing had not happened to Karkat. As she approached the door that had nearly been ripped off it's hinges, images flashed through her mind of Karkat's head smashed in, his crimson blood all over the floor.

A she stopped to look inside, She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The Highblood had smashed every skull on the wall in a fit of anger. She was able to make out Karkat's shape, perfectly intact, but unconscious. It was mere seconds before she leaped to his side, cradling his face. 

"Karkat... Karkat! Wake up, Karkat...please... please don't be dead, _please_."  Tears streamed down her face onto his. 

He groaned in response, drawing a little scowl. Sleeping without sopor made him crack his eyes to look at her. She bore a small smile for him.

"Good to see you're alive."

"Why the fuck wouldn't I be?"

"Karkat, I was really scared. I thought he might have killed you."

"Why were you scared? It doesn't matter if I..."

 

It was then he noticed her tears.

 

"Hey, stop doing that."

He brought up a shaky hand to brush them away.

"Karkat, I..."

But his eyes rolled back and he was again unconscious. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty then, Dune reference. 
> 
> Sorry, It's one of my favorite books. Screw it, it's a fanfic! I have no obligation to be original!!!
> 
> Just kidding. :) Hope someone doesn't get mad. I think it works, Objections?
> 
> I have no idea how Karkat recovered from the Highblood's sex alcohol so fast, but it works for the story, so just roll with it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellllll, I hope that I can do this right.
> 
> Not much to say, really. Just felt like writing.
> 
> Picking up where I left off with Karkat and Nepeta. I think I might start the battle in this chapter, let's see where it goes.
> 
>  
> 
> In honor of love, and all the wonderful people in our lives we have loved, or will come to love, I give you this chapter, it's dedicated to them.
> 
> Enjoy!

When next Karkat woke, it had been several hours.

The first thing that struck him was his enormous headache and the strange weight resting on his chest. He couldn't remember anything from before he woke up. Did the Highblood come to the chamber again? He couldn't be sure. Although it felt like a painful, faraway dream, he knew his memories of his hive being stormed and of seeing Crabdad dead were not fabricated. He was in the captivity of the Highblood, and likely to die. This he knew. 

His head hurt like hell, and his throat burned like a wire brush had been shoved down it. He opened his eyes, which felt like he had just washed sand out of them, he craned his neck downward to investigate the weight constricting his breathing. 

 

Well, no wonder he woke up if he felt so tired and shitty.

 

Nepeta was curled up on his chest, arms curled around her head and nose in his belly. He brought an arm up to poke her horn.

 

"Nepeta...Nepeta."

"mm...hmmm?" She fluttered her eyes open to look at him, before they widened. 

She squeaked and leaped off of Karkat.

"Ummm... um."

 

She was sitting on the other side of the platform, face flushing a pretty olive color, and averting her eyes from a naked Karkat reaching for some of the purple covers. 

 

"I'm getting really sick of sitting in here naked as the day I was hatched. I wish I could show that bastard he doesn't rule everything and everyone."

 

"Oh! um... I almost forgot." Nepeta reached to the floor and lifted the med kit from on top of the gray bundle she had carried in before Karkat nearly met with death. 

"What's this?" He eyed her with suspicion, unsure if this was some trick by the Highblood, his hands receiving it with caution and taking off the gray wrapping. He unfurled it, and out tumbled onto the bed several other pieces of cloth, and a few other heavier items.

The gray wrap, he realized, was a thick gray woolbeast cloak, with holes stitched for his horns and a steel clasp in the shape of his sign. He noted the red stitching around the horn openings. It looked to be handmade.

"Nepeta, did you make this?"

"Oh, well, I only helped. The Dolorosa made it herself. She's so wonderful and talented. She let me do the red stitching, though."

"The Dolorosa? Uh, Nepeta...why...?" She cut him off before he could finish.

"Thought you would need clothes and some gear when we're rescued. I've been hanging onto them in case you turned up. I hope that they fit, it's not like we had you you around to measure you, but Rosa said she had an idea of how big you'd be."

Karkat looked at her weirdly. "Rescue?"

"I'm a spy in the Sufferer's rebellion. I've actually been here about half a sweep, when they started cracking down on rebels. We thought you might show up." She left out the part where she volunteered. She had a feeling that would make him feel bad. "Karkat... um..." she gestured toward the pile of clothes he had abandoned in favor of his apparent priority of discovering the motive behind his gifts.

The other garments were a pair of tall leather boots, black trousers, a simple shirt to match, and a gray military cut jacket with red trim. The heavier item that had given the bundle it's weight was a tempered steel breastplate, with a bright red stripe running along the edge, with arm plates to match. In addition, a pair of smoky lens goggles lay on top. "Those are for when the 'copters flay us out of here, they'll toast your eyes with the hot wind that blasts off those engines. Ψiioniic's been working on a new design for stealth missions, but we use what we can get." 

 

Karkat stared at her, stunned. Before long, he looked down at the pile.  
After a while, a rosy blush settled beneath his light dust of charcoal freckles. 

 

Nepeta slowly understood, after a moment of awkward glancing. She whirled with her back to Karkat, realizing she was gawking. Her cheeks flushed. She thought: now, why did I have to go and stare?  
Had she been looking at his musculature? Oh my gog, she was. She fidgeted, listening to him pull on he clothes, lace the boots, and finally the little tink of the clasp on the cloak fastening. But still, she didn't turn around, she didn't want him to think she was some kind of creep, did she? No way! Haha... after a good minute of her mental babble, she turned around. "Alright, now how does it loo..."  
Her sentence drifted off as she was taken aback by the sight of him. 

 

He looked stunningly leader-like. His chiseled jawline stood out over the high collar of the cloak, suddenly apparent to her. His shoulders were high and drawn back in a proud, noble posture. The drape of the cloak complimented them intensely. She never noticed before, but his expression held a steely determination. She decided she liked it. 

 

"Well, I've got to say, whoever this Dolorosa is, she's a great seamstress." Karkat said. "Reminds me of someone." He lovingly traced the familiar looking stitches.

 

"Who?" Karkat was startled by her question back to reality. She wouldn't have asked, except he began to look distant.

 

"Oh, my moirail. I really hope she's alright and they didn't go after her over me. She was my only quadrant mate... my only friend, really."

 

Nepeta looked at him, puzzled. His expression started to soften into sadness. So he didn't have matesprit? That seemed strange to her. Her skin was getting hot, and she couldn't take her eyes off of him. He sat on the bed, and gestured for Nepeta to join him, as she looked a little pale and might need to sit down after standing around waiting for him to dress. He fumbled with the straps of the breastplate, before Nepeta turned him around and helped him fasten them.

"I really do appreciate these clothes, Nepeta. All I've had before are ill-fitting sweaters and..." He stopped when Nepeta had brought her face close to his. When he didn't draw away, and their eyes met, Nepeta closed hers and pressed her lips softly to his. Her insides seemed to ignite and melt from the contact. After a moment, he kissed back. She reached to hold his hand, which he slid up her arm and used the other to gently hold her waist. It was nothing like the Highblood's kiss, which had been all painful force. This was only equal investment and tenderness.

He drew back, eyes half-lidded. He dove back to the kiss with renewed passion and she was happily obliged to match it. He brought the hand from her waist to the back of her head, supporting it as he leaned her back. His mouth was dry, but not too bad and she was content to replenish it. She pressed a tongue where his met hers silently asking permission to enter. They seemed to be singing a soft duet together with their noises of approval. He had never before even thought of kissing, even held disdain for the entire practice, but now, all the cold insensitive hardship he had faced, the loneliness, was faraway and unimportant. He held her as if he would always protect her, and from the way she dug her nails into his back possessively, she would do the same.

In the dimness and the debris of the Highblood's rage, they amorously complimented each other, soothed away their loneliness. Nepeta, who had braved the one of the most terrifying missions someone of her age could finish, and Karkat, who had been an outcast and hid from the Empire since the day he was born. 

In the time after, they held each other reclined on the platform, foreheads pressed together and one of Nepeta's fingers twining round-and-round one of Karkat's unruly curls. they felt no need to speak, and only held on another in the cold room. For the first time in days, Karkat was clothed and warm, and for the first time in half a sweep, Nepeta had received any love from someone. They both smiled and twined around each other and bathed in the tranquil silence. The brutality of the world and the things that sought to destroy them were no longer important, and they shared a mutual understanding that together they would bring down injustice and bring about the new paradigm of fairness and equality. They drifted off in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow. I'm sorry I didn't get to the battle.
> 
> Anyway, I missed the memo that romance was only for Valentine's day, but maybe you'll make an exception for June, the wedding month.  
> Ugh, I hate having crushes, they make my brain all oatmealy and flip-floppity. Then it's the only thing I can think about.  
> Hope you liked it, tell me what you think.
> 
> thanks again.


	8. ::;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry I took forever to update. I tried and tried, because my internet is such fickle trash, but it's the best you can get out here in the styx.  
> I've also been distracted.  
> Alright, you've had enough of my complaining. Have at it. I'm going to update again very soon, so don't fret over the length of the chapter.

The fortress was surrounded by dense marsh dotted with bare trees. The Disciple’s team waded through, drawing closer in the dim early morning hours. The Disciple, at the head of the group, drew her eyes backwards towards the Handmaid, who lead a set of team members carrying explosives. She would hardly call her charismatic, nor persuasive, but one sharp glance from her had them carrying them. It was interesting.

 

 

Her eyes were down, her face placid, but she knew inside, there was grief and turmoil.  
The Disciple had taken the liberty of finding out more about the Handmaid. With Ψiioniic’s help, she discovered some drawing information, fueled mostly by curiosity, with a hint of suspicion.  
The Handmaid was a former Threshecutioner, another of the Empresses attack dogs of murder and destruction. While the Laughsassins were her unseen snake, the Threshecutioners were her claws, her wildfire.  
When alien planets were invaded, the first action was to lull them into a false sense of security, and then the Empress and the niceties would vanish just when they truly believed they would be spared the fate of countless other planets. They would invade like an Armageddon had risen like a black sun over the innocent. The Handmaid, reportedly, had been among their most promising. An explosives expert, and a beast in combat, wielding electrically charged needles. She had been trusted. But one night, she just snapped. She killed an entire squadron of high-ranking Threshecutioners and freed a ship of slaves, then came to the rebellion promising information for a chance to fight the Empire.

 

 

In short, she was unstable, until the Disciple found out why she did it… the influence of her descendant, Aradia. Amazingly, they had somehow managed to collaborate. With exception to the Disciple, and the famous space pirate duo, Serket, meeting your descendant was rare, let alone being able to attack the Empire side-by-side. Together, they had joined the Rebellion, but now, Aradia had been captured by the Subjuggulators.

 

 

The Handmaid’s eyes were known for their fire, even for changing different colors in the fury of battle. Now, they were swirling with worry. Disciple had understanding, not knowing when or how you would lose someone that seemed to understand you at a level no one else could manage. She had Disciple’s sympathy.  
The Disciple beckoned forward a man carrying a crow-cage. It squawked and flapped as she took it out, sliding a roll of paper with instructions for Nepeta into a tube on its foot. As she released it, it flew before the face of the pink moon. Tonight, she would see smoke before it, just as she had sweeps ago, but this time, she swore she would not lose Karkat. Excitement stirred in her chest at the thought of seeing him again, this time, all grown up. She wondered: would he resemble Signless?

 

But there was also fear, which she did her best to quell as she took a step forward, the Handmaid close behind.

 

 

                                                                                ~~~

 

 

The Highblood barreled briskly down the hall. Any Subjuggulators in his path attempted to scatter like cockroaches, but were quickly crushed beneath his club. As he strode into the dark and filthy prisoners cell-blocks,he waved away the guard, who obediently went, but at the last second, the Highblood tore him down by his jacket and threw him against the bars where the prisoners sat huddled. They stared wide-eyed as the guard wrangled to counter. The Highblood brought down his club, savoring the cries of the prisoners as a mellow splash of teal blood sprayed across them. He grinned at them, until his own eyes met that of a raggedy, captured rebellion member sitting cross-legged near the front.

 

She glared at him unflinching from between two sharp points of curly horns. Chunks of her long, curly hair were matted with her own rusty blood, and some had been painfully ripped from her skull entirely. Blackened and blistered electrical burns snaked her hands, arms and neck where she had been strapped with live cable. He tightened his grip on the slick handle of his club, but the rebel showed no fear. She only deepening her glare and hissed defensively, looking him straight in the eye.

 

_That_ one, he thought.

 

He kicked aside the guards body and opened the dank cell, pleased as the other prisoners pressed against the wall in fear. Perigees of torture had made them meek and their instincts primeval. The rustblood girl's sour expression only intensified when he jerked her up by her hair. She winced, growling and clawing at the hand slowly clenching at the follicles. She huffed, felling claws sink into her hornbeds. Only when she felt her feet leave the stone and hear the jangle of her ankle chains did she cry out. Laughing, he slammed closed the bars and dragged her across the floor towards the torture chambers.

By the manacles on her feet, he strung up the biting and gnashing rebel over a grate in the floor.

"You will never make me say, I will never tell you where the rebels are stationed. You and your faygo suckling swine can do to me whatever you please." she rasped out.

"Then what motherfucking use are you?"

He took a large basin in hand and placed it over the grate, and briskly slit her throat, letting her blood spill over her face and trickle through her hair.


	9. Chapter 9

Few things mezmerized the Grand Highblood more than the depth and color of blood itself. 

In his youth, he had invested time in the blood sciences, examining the various distinctions from the vital fluid from all across the spectrum. The prisoners in the fortress were indispensable... well, objectively, to his delving. Which is precisely why he had a place set aside near the prison area for this reason. 

In the same way one could strip the blue from teal making it jade with arsenic, a specific sodium agent would turn dull rust-colored blood into a bright red passable as mutant to anyone who didn't know the difference. Without losing its viscosity. 

This wasn't nearly as fun as an injection in a brownblood. Ammonia caused a chemical reaction that made it feel as if their blood was boiling in their veins followed by convulsions and death.

Different colors, different chemicals, different properties. 

From the various flasks about the dark shelves, he chose a specific clear liquid. In the dim light he put a drop along each edge of the pan of rust colored blood, and witnessed the motherfucking beautiful change. Each place the liquid fell was immediately bright red. As it seeped further like the tendrils of a horror terror, it became entirely bright red. After a minute, every wisp of dark maroon was gone. It was more than a decent counterfeit in terms of color.

He took a small amount on his finger for a taste. 

Metallic. Salty. 

It tasted weak, but he was glad to keep the little pet upstairs in his cage. Why kill the goose before it lays gold? 

Contained within the fortress was the Chamber of the Messiahs. Many times the Highblood had entered to the throngs of whooping Subjuggulators basking in conquest. However, tonight a new color would be added to the walls. This was not an occasion to be over sighted. A gorgeous new offering to the Messiahs. The Messiahs weren't watching. 

In the spotted darkness their guttural screams caused his steps to further. 

He spread the blood.

More.

And more.

So red.

He roared. ROARED more than he ever had. 

The metal supporting the beams squealed. The walls began to crumble. 

For the first time, the chamber fell silent. And lightning coursed through it. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This is rare. I bet most of you thought I was abandoning this story.   
> I know that most people that don't update for this long usually do.  
> I'm here now, I can't believe anyone's still reading this.

The blast alerted the Highblood, drudging up recollections of days long past. The source was an explosion. It had occurred at the gates, causing water mains to rupture. Water flowed from between the stones of the walls, knocking them out of place. From the Highblood's dais, he watched as dumb shit subjuggulators charged towards a single woman that had just turned the corner of the door; the source of the attack. The Highblood was none the wiser, staring into the face of the bitter stoicism belonging to none other than the Handmaid. 

She dodged and weaved from the swing of a club wrought with nails, escaping with precision from each subjuggulator that sought her death. She paid a high kick in the teeth to the first that touched her, running up the front of his body and doing a snappy flip onto one of the long tables in the hall. 

As the room filled up with water, she pulled two slim, white rods from her hair, letting soft black strands fall around her shoulders.

She slammed two ammo cases from two straps on her back onto the table, deftly popping them open and pulling out snaky metal from inside. Smacking the thinnest ends of the rods into the sockets, the subjuggulators were undeterred as the ropes crackled to life. They sparked and buzzed, and with a flick of the Handmaid's forearm, on coiled around one of the steel beams supporting the vaulted ceiling. Lightning coursed down them, stilling every subjuggulator where they stood. They twitched and writhed before falling into the water. 

The Highblood wasn't grinning anymore. Nor was he reveling in the joyous cries of his brothers. The Handmaid yanked the charged whip from the beam and struck down each subjuggulator that managed to escape the electric middleman filling the floor. Flesh sliced open, the whips cauterizing the corpses black. 

 

"It's been a long time, Handmaid."

The Handmaid's eyes beat from the carcasses the Highblood, now standing. 

 

"Indeed it has. A very long time, Highblood." She spoke with clarity, righting her composure. 

They glared. The Handmaid's hands clenched around her weapons. The tension was immense, the weight of old black romance hanging heavy over them. 

 

"It could have been different,you know, Damara. You should have been my queen."

 

She sneered. "Save your breath, dog. I've wanted to kill you since the night we met. 

 

"Ah that's why it was special. You always kept me on guard." 

"Things are different now, Kurloz. The empire will fall. We will gain Signless's heir and defeat the Condesce. It is _written_."

_So that's why,_ the Highblood thought. _They've come for him, then._

 

 

"I would stray from hypocrisy, Damara. I could evoke a time when your existence was fueled by carnage, and yet you stand here ' _reformed_ '. It's really too bad I knew your influence. I drained your descendant dry, and a I _savored_ it. "

 

The Handmaid visibly faltered.

"It's really too bad we have yours." 

 

The Highblood lightly snickered. "I really wondered where he went."

He reached for a club that rested nearby. 

 

"No more beating around the low growing foliage, Kurloz." With another crack of her whip, she readied with a battle stance. 

 

"I knew you would come one day, Handmaid."He stepped forward into the water with no fear. When the Handmaid sent an electrical pulse through the water, the Highblood was unaffected. When she struck towards his face, the whip coiled around his forearm, having no effect.

 

"You constructed you garb from an insulator."

 

"I wouldn't act so dumb and surprised. You've been itching to spill my blood for sweeps." As he said so, he lunged, swinging his club straight forward. the Handmaid swung her whip, cracking it against the club leaving a black mark across it. He swung repeatedly, unphased each time that the Handmaid dodged. She freed the seals from the rods, letting the coils fall to the floor, lifeless, as the battle turned to furious close combat. Before the club could fall, she landed a kick to the Highblood's center, driving him backward a few feet. The Handmaid soon became successful with each strike, a gash here, a spray of cuts there. The Highblood kept his ground, taking everything. The Highblood tried a low maneuver, taking up another thick club resting on the table, and swung against the Handmaid. When the club came down it was horrifically hard and fast, the Handmaid was thrown into the wall. As she slid down, a smear of rust added itself to the painting on the wall. The water became tinged with deep red, and her body went slack. After a moment, the Highblood went over to the body, nudging it onto it's side with a boot. 

The case containing the small reactor that powered the coils had shattered and driven into her back from the impact. He knelt and tenderly brushed a truss of hair from her face and wiped a away the blood that was oozing from her throat. 

"Adieu, Damara."

He threw the club that delivered the killing blow into the water, ad left the chamber with his own to find his favorite prisoner, and secure his status as such. 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hm. okay. Here I am. I was in a coma. again.
> 
> If you have been raped or sexually assaulted, please, DO NOT READ THIS. You will likely find it highly, highly triggering and possibly painful.

"Karkat, we have to leave. Now. The prisoners don't stand a chance." Nepeta had long imagined Signless's descendant with all the wisdom of his deceased counterpart, but all she saw in Karkat was naivety. Why didn't he understand how much was at stake? "For gog's sake, you're more important!" She seized his arm and sunk in her claws. "You're not going down there, damn it!"

He whipped his head around to face her. The expression he bore of burning, sour accusation made her very constitution rattle at its foundation. He yanked his limb from her grasp leaving four curling red marks on his gray skin. "Karkat, we have to go NOW. If this building doesn't come down on our heads, the clubs of a storm of subjuggulators will. You are the entire point of this mission, I won't let..."

He cut her off. "Fuck you, and fuck your rebellion. I've believed I would die since... I can't remember when. It doesn't matter whether I live or die now. I had a chance to save the only thing that mattered to me, my lusus, but I didn't to save my own worthless ass, and now I wish I had joined him in the ashes of my hive. I'm not getting out of here with you when I know there's a chance that there are trolls down there who have a chance to escape with their lives. Don't put me in that position, I barely even know you. You think just because we kissed in that disgusting hole that I would give up the only thing that sets me apart from this despicable Empire, my principles? I just realized just how much you manipulated me. Fuck you twice. I would rather die."

These words pulverized and snapped what little strength that Nepeta had left. Karkat had snarled so horribly... how could a person like that be the spawn of the Signless? She waited until Karkat turned to run down the hall that she let big tears roll down her cheeks.

_Hell if I'd help him,_ she thought,  _he thinks he's going to help those trolls, but he doesn't understand. He only thinks about himself._

She took off running towards the roof. _Principles._ _What about the principles of those who gave their lives to save you? What about those principles, huh? You have no idea what the Highblood did to us, Karkat, you have no idea how much trolls are suffering._

She let her tears roll off her cheeks and hit the floor, lamenting how many lives were surely lost now, and for nothing. 

~~~~

When he came sliding abruptly into the prisoner's area, the filthy trolls were in a state of panic. The shaking fortress had already collapsed two cells, killing their inhabitants. The prisoners clawed frantically at the bolts and rack at the bars. They plead wretchedly to Karkat. 

It's okay, I'm going to get you out of here. You're not going to die here." He looked around for something to open the cells. He rolled the body of a dead guard over to find the key, and inserted it into the crank, while the prisoners cried with relief. "I'll take you up and out. I'll have to free the rest."

A troll grabbed his hands and cradled them, looking deliriously into Karkat's eyes. "Be careful. There's monsters in these shadows." Others whispered in rasps, "Our savior..." These mixed in with with wails from other cells to be freed from their condition. 

As Karkat looked at the prisoners making their way out as he tried to free the others he noticed other signs of trauma among malnutrition and abuse. He wasn't sure, but... there was what seemed to be sexual trauma injuries on some of the trolls. Since it wasn't something he was familiar with, but he was sure that trolls didn't bleed out their nooks from not eating enough. 

It was no matter, they were safe now...

The emaciated trolls suddenly backed away from the exit as a shadow passed over them from behind Karkat. A little voice in his head said _Of course, of fucking course. Now, back your regularly scheduled shitty program where you never win._

He turned around slowly to look up at the face of the Highblood. 

"The Messiahs willed it that you should come back to me. Be grateful this pathetic rebellion hoofbeast shit failed. Wherever you hide, wherever you run to, I will hunt you bring you back where you belong. Now..." He grabbed Karkat and pulled him against his body. Karkat barred his teeth and did his best to land a punch in his gut, but it was not very effective, and earned a chuckle from the Highblood. This halfhearted chuckle, much to Karkat's immediate and total horror, was punctuated by the Highblood clubbing a young troll and spattering his brains all over the far wall of the cell, as well as the other prisoners. They shrieked and quaked. Karkat felt his blood go from a simmer to a rolling boil and shadows danced at the edges of his vision. Blind, burning rage was suddenly rustled in him like a current lifting the scum from the bottom of a pond.

The sight of all the prisoner's animal fear; to see them covered in filth and their own dried sick; with fresh blood and bits of pulpy body. Some of the trolls wounds were gangrenous and purple. It was all too much. Karkat's will to fight was tugging between that of the will to flee. The Highblood went into the cell and grabbed a troll's matted hair along with a hornand in one brisk movement, slammed her head into the stone. Her skull broke and spilled its contents with one sickening crack, and he threw her lifeless body against the other prisoners. No matter how Karkat fought against it, he couldn't hold his rising bile any longer. He folded over and retched up an empty stomach.

Through tears in his burning eyes, he reached up to close and lock the cell door, but he wasn't fast enough. The Highblood threw a club against the bars, knocking the door open and Karkat on the floor. The Highblood then took up the club and produced a green spray of blood from what had been a prisoner attempting to scurry away. "For ever time you try to feed me some more of that sorry, sour trash, I kill another one of these miserable shitheads." He crossed over to the huddled prisoners and picked up another one, pressing his claws into a festering wound on her arm, and pressed the end of his club into her temple. "So, what mad fate are you going to choose for this motherfucker, huh starshine? What's it gonna be?" Karkat looked up in shock and fear from his place on the floor. 

"Your silence chooses for you." He raised his club up high to separate her arm from her body. She cried out in fear of the coming blow.

"Stop! For fuck's sake... let her go. I'll..." Karkat swept his eyes over those of the prisoners as he weighed his fate. He was only one life, and they were many. "I'll do what you want. Whatever you want. Just let them go. The girl's brown blood was starting to drip from her wound before the Highblood let her fall painfully to the floor, but he didn't didn't drop his piercing gaze from Karkat. The prisoners, with mild hesitation, fled with fear and relief. Karkat stumbled and rose. 

The Highblood closed the space between them. Something, some light that had faded then. He propped his club against the wall, and stepped out of the empty cellblock and out of sight. Without speaking or gesture, Karkat knew he compelled him to follow. Karkat took a timid step, then another. He passed through the stone arch with another series of steps to where the Highblood waited. It was a torture chamber, that much he could ascertain. Sparse gray light filtered down from and overcast daytime sky. When had he last slept? He was so fatigued. The bars were mirrored in the stone floor, over which hung chains he could only expect held some grisly purpose. There was a scent of blood; fresh and short of rotting. 

"Thank your friends from the rebellion for the unsavory venue. His panic set in. The Highblood took a seat on a chair that, Karkat lamented, had no straps with which to restrain him. What was he thinking, anyway? His fate was sealed. Yet, it still struck him that he had a tiny sliver of hope to live. 

He scanned the room for weapons, but there were none. No matter how he weighed the options, there was no way he could overcome the Highblood, and he knew it. 

"Come to me now, finally, pet." He seized his wrist, and then the other, sending Karkat sprawling over his lap. He pressed an elbow into the small of his back, keeping both of Karkats trapped in one of his. Karkat ground his fangs and kicked the first shin his foot could find, gnashing his teeth and struggling within his capabilities. 

The stronger arm holding his own twisted his wrists like it was wringing a wet rag and pressed his arms faster than he could blink, crunching his ligaments into stripes of flame inside his flesh that made him cry out. The Highblood did not abate until it seemed like Karkat's very existence was composed of agonizing tension. 

Karkat tried to breathe through clenched teeth and muffled screams until the Highblood finally ended his suffering at the toll of two large, sickening pops inside his body; and let his arms fall. The pain was not gone, however. They were bruised and still maimed from the abuse they had just endured. Karkat had tears rolling down his face as he let his arms hang limp. 

"I'm only doing my best to teach you the lesson your thick-skulled ancestor could never quite understand. The price of disobedience is pain. The price of helping the weak is a loss of your power. I've already stripped you of any power you might think you had." At this point, he lifted Karkat and smacked him face down onto the stone, and planted a knee roughly between his shoulder blades. "Remember this, mutant. If you do what I tell you to do, there's less pain in your future of servitude for me." Karkat knew that the fortress had stopped shaking, but it seemed that through his eyes, the world was truning in all directions at once and tearing at the seams. His eyes continued to stream as he struggled to get his mouth to be silent. His heart raced then when the Highblood stripped him first of his boots, then of his pants, shucking them off and throwing them to some distant edge of the chamber and out of reach. The Highblood then turned him over on his back and crunched Karkat's knuckles until they bled, letting bright red stain the stone. 

Karkat's face twisted in pain as his skin split to leak blood onto the floor. He half coughed, half rasped his condemnation: "You are as pathetic and without creativity as any subjuggulator in this rotten, disgusting empire." 

The Highblood freed a hand and clenched Karkat's chin painfully in his grip. He depressed his cheeks to the bruising point beneath the pressure of his fingers. "Spitting bitter words undermines that pretty mouth of yours. And I? Not creative? Oh sweetness..." The Highblood trailed claw points gently down his bare leg, snatched an ankle and wrapped an arm around his waist, and pulled him up with him and sat in the chair. Karkat's legs spread by force and widened under the pressure of the Highblood's hands pressing down on his shoulders.

"You'll tame. The other ranks of the subjuggulators, as you say, they're dim and viscous, but I am patient. I'm not going to rip you apart. I am going to fuck you long and gentle and you'll see. You will. All those walls you've built against me? Just you watch. I won't crash through them. If I keep you long enough, you'll soften up nice. Those walls will crumble into sand, and you will give in. But my starlight mint, if you give me salt..." He took this moment to further injure Karkat by sinking claws into his back, and driving his torso further towards him. ".... and I punish you. If you give me sweet things..." He softened his grip and gently ran his fingers through his hair. "...and I reward you and you shall never want for anything. Now, back to your pretty mouth..." Karkat's thighs enveloped the body of a troll he'd never held more venom and rancor for. His hands twitched with pain and his arms were limp and swollen. He expected both were disjointed; they felt splintered to the very core of his bones. Useless. 

"Yes, unquestionably a perfect mouth. I'll make good use of it in time." 

Karkat gathered thick, dehydrated saliva and spat in the Highblood's face. 

With sarcastic laughter, the Highblood gathered up the petulant gift, wetting him fingers and palm. 

"Come now, I see far too much hate in your eyes than I like. You're not allowed to let black feelings grow in you." He took the wet hand and pressed it against Karkat's exposed nook.

His eyes widened, he jerked a few micrometers forward, and his pupils shrank as the hand traveled in slow circles around his opening. He tightened his legs and tried to shove away, raising his arms at the cost of tremendous pain to resist. A large open palm circled round from the Highblood and closed on the back of his neck, shoving him back downward onto and intimidating swell apparent even through thick trousers. 

"Oh, this is all hues of perfect, mad brush strokes. I see painted in your eyes and all over your face all hues of furious, beautiful resemblance. You're more like him than i had prayed."

He pushed against his captive more of the physical semblance on his promises. A bulge impatiently pulsed and curled from within thick cloth against Karkat. Its feeling was omething that awakened some indelible force locked within his DNA. Nay, locked within every troll.... it served to further feed the growing fear in the acidic tarpit of his stomach spreading like wildfire through his cells. 

Warmth, intrepid wetness, and a wash of arousal broke through floodgate he'd so carefully crafted. His disgust was nothing like true hatred; he felt no hatred for this troll other than the desire to tear his spine from his hulking despicable body, not to fuck him. The feeling was so pure, so searing, it was impenetrable, combustible, and so true in its corrosive malignant nature. 

And yet, anticipation spilled from his region without his permission, and he felt powerless to stop it.

He raised his eyes skyward, or at what little light filtered from the ceiling, and implored the universe to stop this from happening. He did so with more passion than when he had once done so when he was desperate and alone, begging the starry sky for companionship and affection in this volatile world. It was a desire that had been exploited and capitalized upon easily by that resistance spy. And yet, as the Highblood freed his bulge and it twisted against him, making him shiver, the faces of the prisoners briefly broke the haze of his mind. He realized that he didn't regret saving their lives. It was then that he felt a silent red flame begin the steadily flicker in the depths of his soul. 

The Highblood took two fingers and pressed and stroked the fold from which Karkat's bulge independently begged to emerge. He pressed from each side of it and forced the tip to escape. From Karkat's limited experience, he knew once his tip was out, there was very little that could prevent the rest from following suit. 

"You see? Have patience. The more excited you allow yourself to become, the less pain you'll feel when I finally soften your ground." Hearing that deep voice suddenly helped him to focus the purity of his malice. He stretched to sink his teeth and sharp fangs as deeply as he could into the arm holding his torso down. The minute that grip loosened, he gathered all his spite in a split second and used all his strength to shoot up on his weakened legs. 

He knew he didn't believe it would be enough to break free of this torture. In fact, he never believed it. Predictably, the Highblood grabbed him by both arms and forced him to fold back down and buckle to the pain. The Highblood forced him to turn around. Good. Splendid. At least now he didn't have to look into the Highblood's face and eyes any longer. At least now he could stare at some stone wall while he was violated. But it was not to be. The Highblood held Karkat's throat and craned his head backward to suck his own purple blood from his lips and breathed heavily on his skin. He seemed almost to bathe lecherously in the feeling of Karkat's back curling and his body writhing on his. He plunged his tongue in his mouth. "Despite how devine my blood tastes in your throat, I suppose I really do have to punish you for that."

He pulled apart Karkat's legs and shoved in. 

No preparation. No warning. 

Karkat felt felt small part of himself rip like a hundred paper cuts, and he couldn't help but let out a high scream as the Highblood thrust in a bulge he was certain should never have fit inside of him. YEt, it did so by force. With each merciless thrust he cried out though he knew it would win him no pity, nor attract any aide. 

He felt the Highblood's breath on his neck. His own sweat dripped into his eyes. The HIghblood slowed to pull his nook fully over his bulge, tearing further as it went. It stroked his walls and pushed at some deep, sensitive place he had scarcely known existed. He let his head loll down to see his own bulge flailing in the air. It was then the Highblood did the worst thing he could've done. He grabbed hold of it with one hand and pumped up and down. If Karkat had thought before that his floodgates were open, he was sorely mistaken. What he had lamented as arousal before had been nothing more than a trickle holding back the pressure of a dammed river. Now, the gates were open. 

Feeling another hand than his own, no matter who it was, was an ecstasy unto itself. He felt his heartbeat pulse in his bulge, his nook, beneath his eyelids, even nectar of arousal flowed in the spaces of his dislocated shoulders as that infernal substance traveled like the merciless march of invasion through his being. Each wound still seared with pain, despite the sickly sweet syrup in his veins making him succumb to the play of fingers on his bulge. His nook ignored the embroiled protest from his mind and slid contentedly over the bulge inside of it. It held it. It swallowed and craved it. 

An unique sensation like he had never experienced or imagined in its depth or richness replaced pain with mounting pressure. 

"You drugged me." Karkat rasped and gasped out into the air. The Highblood had let a gulp of that disgusting liquid slide down his throat along with his blood. This so-called pleasure was just more strings he had employed to manipulate and toy with his victims. 

Karkat felt a wash of coldness as the warmth that had filled him turned to battery acid in his veins. He rejected and banished it, and his nook contracted. It was suddenly a fissure of fire bore deeply in his being. He'd never felt more intense pain in his life. It transcended that of his shoulders, of any wound. He felt greater tension yet again as his body tried to escape the Highblood's grip, and he screamed. He shrieked, he could do nothing else. His existence was being reduced to a pillar of ash from the torch being shoved in and out of his orifice.

But the Highblood snarled. To keep Karkat from struggling, he pulled his arms back again and fucked him with more vivacity than before. He was close to climax, and didn't want his victim to cease being at his disposal, so he disregarded his pain and thrusted and bounced him up and down over his bulge until he could stand no more. He thrusted in with a ecstatic sigh and enjoyed a come that he internally swore was the most miraculous heaven sent thing he'd ever taken. 

Karkat swore it was a piece of hell shoved in his very soul. 

Slimy purple come was splashed all over him in gory strokes. It dripped and seemed to be almost permanently lodged inside him. Karkat couldn't bear to look anymore. He shut his eyes and locked them tightly. 

The Highblood let him fall like a newborn hoofbeast, slime, blood and all, onto the floor, where he gasped and rolled himself tightly together. 

Pink tears rolled their way mercilessly down his face. The Highblood waited a minute to catch his breath before letting his bulge retract from whence it came. Karkat's had receded all to long ago, since before he stopped feeling pleasure. 

The high blooded bastard who'd perpetrated against him, he tended to him. Karkat snarled like an animal and wailed, but still the Highblood forced his shoulders back in place; each popping back into their sockets, and each one wrenching a scream from their body. 

"All the mess those heretical pieces of nut creature feces is now needing my attention." Karkat closed up and refused to even blink, or even to twitch; nothing to show he was more than a dust mote. 

"Stay if it really pleases you. Stay til you rot. It won't change your place under me. I will return to give you some more when you are all gentled down." 

The Highblood left, leaving echoes bouncing down the cellblock walls after his departure, and closing the door and sliding a lock in place after him. He left Karkat alone on the stone floor to wallow in his pain and in his defeat, with nothing more than a life and some clothes to his credit. Even his life seemed pretty worthless and nothing more than a curse or a sick joke for him to laugh hysterically at at its sheer level of pathetic value. He laid on the floor for a long time. 

***

Nepeta made it out after a while, with dry and fresh tears as well as her being alone broadcasting to the remaining members of the party that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. The prisoners had run frantically past her and past the rebels in a frantic manner into the wastes. 

The Disciple's eyes seemed to beg for a better explanation than what she had automatically assumed as the worst.

"I'm so sorry." The Disciple stumbled slightly on nothing. 

"Karkat is dead." The lie felt easier in her mouth than it would be to admit her own shame. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, sorry if it sucks, I think it might get better. It's not like there are other homestuck fans out here in the backasscrack of nowhere to help me proofread or anything.  
> Anyway, thanks again


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